’ ‘Who were they?’ she asked abruptly. ” She turned and looked at him. ” She stopped buttoning her glove, and looked at him. But all normal humans smelled wonderful to her, even dirty ones. The young man looked at her. In a side-glance—for the floor was variously encumbered with overturned objects—he saw one of his paper weights, a coloured glass ball such as McClintock used in trade. It was at his side below the breast, hidden by the dark colour of his close-fitting jacket. Then, naturally, I went on talking. She went about the gory business of disposing of the bodies, cutting them up with a large butcher knife and packing the light dry pieces of their bloodless remains in a double ply garbage bag, pieces that looked like overcooked, ruined meat. It is that, is it not?” “No,” he answered readily. Blueskin, you are a true friend.
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